


Fair Game

by jessahmewren



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff, MSR, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: Mulder takes Scully to the carnival.  Written for The Xmas Files Challenge on Tumblr. Day 2: Wreath





	Fair Game

-0-0-0-

It was late fall, and as the season suggests everything in nature seemed subject to gravity’s pull. Leaves, as they rattled along sidewalks, and the temperature, rarely reaching the fifties at midday but flirting with freezing every night of the week were an apt testimony. It seemed as though winter would blow through D.C. before autumn had even made itself at home.

Almost on cue, a sharp wind cut a whiplash path through the National Mall, causing Scully to retreat even deeper into her overcoat. The noonday sun was bright, but by the time its light had filtered through the overhanging trees its warmth was long spent. She closed her eyes, listening to the rustling leaves, and waited.

  
-0-0-0-

She was beautiful. This was hardly a realization to him, but as Mulder made his way over to her, he couldn’t resist stopping beside a tree, partially hidden, to drink her in.

Her hair was wavy now. The subtle curl she’d so carefully subdued for so many years was more prone to show itself these days, especially on windy days like this one, and the shoulder-length tendrils hung languidly against her tailored plum coat, quivering lightly in the breeze. Those titian tresses matched a few leaves that, even at so late in the season, still colored the walking trails that skirted the perimeter of the National Mall. The sun shone through them, shifting and coupling against her ivory skin in a dozen silhouettes as she sat there, an Impressionist painting of shadow and light. That park bench and the woman on it made him so glad he hadn’t taken this road or that road whenever it had presented itself and ended anywhere but right where he stood.

“Have you taken to sleeping on park benches now?” He settled next to her, smiling wryly over the high collar of his black pea coat. She started slightly, eying him with feigned annoyance. As recompense, he proffered a large Starbucks, and she smiled. “Caramel Macchiato?” He nodded. “With extra whipped cream,” he added with some satisfaction. Scully’s sweet tooth was just one of the many little things he loved about her, and he encouraged her to indulge whenever possible. She sipped it appreciatively as he held his own black coffee. They sat in companionable silence as joggers and parents with strollers circled them like hungry sharks. After a few more sips she made a half-turn on the bench to face him. “You’re late. It’s nearly one.” She had a bit of whipped topping on her lip, and Mulder couldn’t suppress a laugh. Scully looked at him, perplexed. “What?”

He kissed her, expertly dealing with the little bit of sweet, and she softened into his kiss before lightly pushing him away. “Mulder,” she drawled quietly. Scully’s discomfort with PDA was another little quirk of hers that he found absolutely adorable, and he relished testing the limits of her tolerance at every opportunity. “Mmm.” He hummed contentedly and licked his lips. “You taste so good, Scully.”

“If you wanted some you could’ve asked,” she intoned huffily, and set her coffee down on the bench beside her. His eyes twinkled. “Oh really,” he said with a wicked grin. It was her turn to laugh. She kissed him then, PDA aversion be damned, and snaked her hands around his middle, under his coat. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, relishing in the warmth and familiarity of his body against hers. “Are you sure no one will see us here?”  
He sighed, feeling the comfortable yet still-new feeling of the weight of her body against his. “No,” he said quietly. “But we shouldn’t have to hide, Scully.” She tightened her hands on him under his coat, a wordless reply. “But I know we have to…at least for now,” he finished quietly.  
She exhaled against him. “So where are we going?”

He smiled into her hair. “To the fair,” he said matter-of-factly.

Scully withdrew, her brow furrowed. “The fair? As in Carnies and corn dogs, Mulder?” Mulder nodded calmly, his lips pressed together. “That would be the one.”

-0-0-0-

Mulder gripped the gun firmly as he squinted down the barrel. His shoulders were relaxed and, as he had done a thousand times at Quantico, Mulder sighted his target with cool precision. With an intake of breath, he depressed the trigger, hitting the bull’s eye square in the center. Again.

“And, we have another winner,” the carnival worker behind the counter said loudly if not a little flat, clearly bored and annoyed by one hotshot dominating his racket. Make that two.

“I’ll take that one there.” Mulder pointed to a gaudy Christmas wreath with a Santa hat on top. Scully eyed it humorously. The man took the wreath down and handed it to Mulder. At Mulder’s feet, a litter of stuffed bears, dogs, dragons, a massive Sponge Bob and one huge inflatable hammer lay scattered on the ground. Mulder put his face through the wreath and looked at Scully. “Look Scully, battery operated.” With a flip of a switch the seemingly plain green wreath opened what appeared to be eyes and a mouth and began to sing Jingle Bells. He laughed in delight. “The office door is going to be so festive.”  
“Jesus Mulder,” Scully said, rolling her eyes. “Now hand me that rifle.”  
Mulder put his toy away, finding it hard to decide what he found more arousing: Scully, as she bent suggestively over the counter, her lithe body fitted perfectly under the belted coat and dark jeans, or the way she held that gun. She was an excellent marksman, and although her current weapon was a harmless pellet gun (with a bent sight), she held it with all the deft accuracy and dead seriousness of an assault rifle in the field. The hard concentration etched on her face did nothing to chisel away the loveliness there; in fact, it was sexy as hell.

She brushed non-existent dirt from her hands, looking smug. “That’s eighteen. We’re tied.” She smiled triumphantly before choosing another of her own prizes from the booth’s rapidly dwindling stock. When she’d made her choice, instead of paying for his turn, Mulder grabbed her around the waist, burying his face in her hair. “Why don’t we call it a draw,” he whispered huskily in her ear, but she only smiled.

“Not on your life.”

-0-0-0-

It was near evening, and the sun was setting over the Ferris wheel, tents and assorted other monstrosities of carnival life with apropos beauty for Virginia in late fall. If the foliage in the city caused one to look twice, the trees here stopped you dead in your tracks–a myriad of gold, scarlet, and transitional greens in natural abandon against an orange sky.

They sat in a diner across the road. Most of the day’s fair dwellers were dispersing now and the evening crowd was coming in, a river of headlights flowing to and from the fairgrounds like so many migrating lightning bugs. Scully picked at her burger and fries, quiet and somewhat pensive. “So why did we come here Mulder? It’s our day off, true…I mean it’s beautiful, but it took us hours to get here just to play some silly games.”

At first she thought she’d offended him, but his face, unreadable by most people, told her that he was only listening. “I mean, I’ve had a wonderful time, but—“

“I love you Scully.”  
She gaped at him. In the months they’d been together–actually been together as in having acknowledged their feelings for one another and explored a relationship–neither of them had ever said the “L” word, and she had never noticed its absence. It seemed, to her at least, that she and Mulder had transcended its need, that saying it after all of these years meant no more or less than saying the sky is blue. And here he was saying it.

“When I was five, my grandmother took me out to the country, to a fair kind of like this one. I’d never seen anything like it. The sights, the sounds, all the different people.” He looked away, lost in an untouchable memory. “It was amazing. And that’s how you make me feel every day.” He looked down at the table. “I just wanted to show you.”

She looked at him blankly, dumbstruck and profoundly touched all at the same time. “You do show me Mulder.” Her voice was barely a whisper, almost as if she was unsure of to whom she was speaking, and her heart was in her throat. “You show me all the time, in so many ways.”

She stretched her hand across the table, entwining her fingers with his. “C’mon,” she smiled at him. “How about a rematch?”

-0-0-0-

“Uh, this was not exactly what I had in mind when you said ‘rematch.’” Mulder looked at the little armada of ducks, yellow, pink and blue ones bobbing along in a tranquil cul-de-sac, and creased his brow. Scully nudged him playfully. “Come on, Mulder, what are you afraid of? Just pick one.”

But maybe that was what was so daunting. This was a task he couldn’t control, not with skill, training, or brute force. It was an outcome left simply to chance. He set his jaw and fished one from the stream.

The woman behind the counter turned the little duck over, where a black number “1” was boldly emblazoned on its underside. “Here you go,” she said brusquely. He looked at the little sticker she pressed into his palm with some modicum of defeat. It had a dolphin on it and said “you’re a star.” But he felt like a failure.

Scully suppressed a giggle at the dejected look on Mulder’s face and paid for another turn. “Here, let me try.” Scully closed her eyes and swirled her hand dramatically over the ducks like a magician at a kid’s birthday party. With some fanfare, she plucked one from the water and handed it to the woman.

“Three,” the woman declared, but with the same lack of enthusiasm with which she’d announced Mulder’s lowly “1.” Scully set her mouth, her eyes searching the rows of prizes for just the right thing. Finally, she made her decision and handed it to Mulder. He looked down at the little stuffed dog, no bigger than his hand, and at the little heart it held in its mouth. It said “I love you.”

Mulder looked at Scully and they both smiled.

-0-0-0-


End file.
